


Twisted and Tangled

by HapaxLegomenon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Monsters, Post-Recall, Reunions, Werewolf Jesse McCree, Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 11:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14496096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HapaxLegomenon/pseuds/HapaxLegomenon
Summary: Jesse wakes in the late morning with an ache in his bones and a snarling restlessness in his soul, and he knows, without having to look at the sky -- tonight's the full moon.





	Twisted and Tangled

 

Jesse wakes in the late morning with an ache in his bones and a snarling restlessness in his soul, and he knows, without having to look at the sky -- tonight's the full moon.

He groans, feels it resonate in his chest, gropes for the other side of the bed.  It seems like someone is supposed to be there, but it’s empty and he groans again, shoving his face into the pillow in protest.

“How you survived alone for so many years is beyond me,” an amused, accented voice says, somewhere near the door, and Jesse has a scrambled, panicked moment of wondering how anyone in the world managed to sneak up on him.  He bares his his teeth and growls low in his throat before his brain catches up with the instinct.

He’s in Gibraltar, with Overwatch.  The last place he’d ever thought he’d be, after… well.

Jesse runs his tongue over his teeth and blinks up at Genji.

It’s only been two days since Genji and Fareeha found him in a bar in New Mexico and dragged him back to Spain, and Genji’s different.  He’s always been graceful, but now there’s a serenity and peace about him that makes the bitterness inside Jesse boil with envy.

Genji’s not the only one who’s changed, after all.  Seven years is a long time. A lot can happen. Jesse twists his metal fingers into the blankets and tries to ignore the rising nausea and the animalistic aggression bubbling in his stomach.

The scar is gone, lost with his arm years ago, but Jesse still feels, clear as anything, the crescent bite of phantom pain around his forearm.  He feels the wolf singing and snapping in his blood, longing for the moon, desperate for freedom. It crawls and squirms and Jesse half wants to rip his skin off right now, get it over with.  Better the pain of the transformation than this itchy frustration.

“Easy to survive when you’re hard to kill,” Jesse grunts, and he thinks about getting out of bed.  His body creaks in protest when he tries to sit up, though, and his nostrils flare in self-consciousness.  There's no way just sitting up should be so hard. For chrissakes, he's not even forty yet and his body feels like it's being slowly ripped apart.

“Are you well, Jesse?” Genji asks, head tilted to one side as he moves to sit on his abandoned side of the bed.  A sharp, abrupt longing pierces through Jesse -- all he wants right now is to pull Genji back down beside him and spend the day in bed together.  A memory dances just under the surface of his consciousness, skin on synthetic skin and rhythm and biting and laughing, and Jesse flushes. Genji doesn't miss it, but misinterprets.  “Do you have a fever? I'd check myself, but, well.” He holds up his hands, both metal now, and Jesse cracks a grin at the weak joke.

“‘Member how I used to tease Gabe ‘bout bein’ an old man?”

“Mm.”

Jesse stretches, and his joints pop with a painfully loud crack.  “Turns out bein’ an old man is pretty rough.”

The wolf snaps under his skin, seething at being dismissed, and Jesse snaps back.  He feels Genji’s eyes on him, even through the visor, a prickle that runs across his neck and down his arms.

“There were many rumours about you, you know,” Genji says, “even in Nepal.”  He pauses, and his fingers twitch in the blankets. But Genji doesn’t have autonomic reflexes, anymore, and Jesse wonders what the twitch means.  “I never could get away from you, Jesse McCree.”

It scrapes at an old wound, the pain familiar but still sharp.  “Seems like ya did a pretty good job when you left.” No contact information, no warning, nothing.  Just one day… gone. And then Moira… and in the end it wasn’t even Jesse who managed to stay the course, it was just Gabriel, alone atop a crumbling tower until everything came crashing down, and Blackwatch finally shattered into dust.  

Genji hums.  “You’re angry,” he notes.

The wolf growls, and Jesse echoes it.  “Could say that,” he says, shoving himself to his feet and limping around the edges of the room, prowling, pacing.  It pops and roils and this close to the full moon, Jesse can feel the changes starting, slow. His nails are sharper and stronger.  His teeth are longer.  His muscles feel wiry and tense and he can smell Genji in the room, salt and oil and ozone. Genji stays perfectly still as Jesse paces, and somehow it’s infuriating.  “What’re we even doin’ here, huh? Playin’ at heroes again? I ain’t one’a the good guys.”

“The world needs people like us,” Genji says, smooth and echoing.  “Isn't that what you always said?”

Jesse laughs, a wild barking sound.  “Wasn't talkin’ about Overwatch and you know it.”

“Well.  Somebody will have to do the dirty work.”

Sometimes, it seems like dirty work is the only kind Jesse can do.  And sure, when he was younger, it was exciting, sneaking around in his black fatigues with extra-governmental power and Genji as sleek and restless as a wildcat by his side.  And the Lord knows, Jesse's already got a black stain on his soul bigger than anyone else’s, there's nothing left to redeem even if he wanted to. He was never a soldier -- a spy, yeah, an assassin, a mercenary, a bounty hunter, a drunk, a monster.  Maybe this new Overwatch can do some good for the world, but it won't be with Jesse McCree.

He sums it all up in one word: “Bullshit.”

Genji tilts his head a precise, calculated angle.  “Perhaps,” he agrees.

Jesse breathes deep through his nose.  God, Genji smells good.  Hopeful.  “You got faith in ‘em,” Jesse says.  It’s not a question. “Those kids’re gonna change the world, huh?” He’s heard of some of them before -- remembers Lena, voice bright and smile brighter; has heard Lucio in crackly and revolutionary speeches; pictures Fareeha, strong and defiant with her mother’s tattoo.  Remembers being seventeen and angry at the world and knowing that it could be _better_.

Remembers Gabriel, a hand on his shoulder, a banner to fight under.

Genji presses the latches at his temples, and his _eyes_ , they’re exactly the same, exactly the same, the way Jesse sees them in dreams and fantasies and his heart squeezes in his chest.  

“Yes,” Genji says, leaning forward, stepping closer to sit beside Jesse on the bed.  His faceplate is in his hands and his twisted, scarred face is relaxed and serene.  A small smile curls his lips and Jesse fights down the urge to bite it.  Taste it.  “They’re better than we were,” Genji continues, and Lord, isn’t that the truth. “But they will need help.”

Genji glances at him sideways, and the smile twists into something a little more familiar, a little more sarcastic.  “Old soldiers to show them the way,” he adds.  Gabriel laughs in Jesse’s memory, calls them _idiotas_ in that gruffly fond way he always has.  Had.

The wolf howls a plaintive note, echoing somewhere in the depths of his soul.  Jesse bursts out, “God Almighty, but I missed you,” in a cracked voice, and it doesn’t matter that Genji’s shoulder plating catches on the chassis of Jesse’s arm -- it’s just so good to hold each other again.  Jesse tucks his chin against the protective synthetics of Genji’s neck and drowns in the scent of him.

“Jesse,” Genji breathes.  It shivers up Jesse’s spine and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end.  His fingers curl, and his long, sharp nails scrape against Genji’s metal body.

With some difficulty, Jesse pulls back.  “Boy howdy,” he sighs, “if I ain’t half needed that.”  He scrubs his hand over his face -- his beard is thicker than usual, wirier, another reminder.  “Look,” he hedges, unsure of how to say it. In a world where cyborg ninjas and genius gorillas and girls untethered from time exist, perhaps it isn’t so strange, but there’s a part of Jesse that can’t quite bring himself to say the word _werewolf_ out loud.  

“Wasn’t bein’ modest when I said I ain’t good,” he starts, and Genji grins.

“You are many things, Jesse McCree, but modest has never been one of them.”

Jesse doesn’t smile back.  “Yeah, well. The list keeps growin’.”

Genji tilts his head to the side again -- a question, this time.  Jesse licks his teeth, and his tongue catches sharp on his canines.  “May have, uh. Picked up a touch of lycanthropy.”

Even with his face burned and scarred and grafted to permanent life support, Genji has always been incredibly expressive, and surprise shows clear in his expression.  His eyebrows vanish up under his headpiece, and he stares at Jesse’s face with wide brown eyes. “You are joking,” he decides, after a long moment of silence.

“M’not.”

Genji leans forward, nose-to-nose until Jesse can feel his own breath ghosting against Genji’s faceplate.  Where his lips would be, if he still had them. “You are not,” Genji repeats, then just as abruptly, he sits back.  

To Jesse’s complete surprise, he laughs.  The wolf responds with immediate aggression, hackles up and rumbling a low growl.  It tries to snap, and Jesse has to cross his arms tight across his chest to keep from acting on some unfortunate animalistic impulse.

“I am sorry,” Genji says, but his mirthful tone ruins the sincerity of his apology.  “I do not mean to laugh. This is just… very unexpected.”

Unexpected.  Yeah, that’s certainly one word for it.  “Ya don’t say,” Jesse mutters.

Genji stops laughing and looks at him, considering.  “Do not worry,” he says, because of course he can pick up on Jesse’s feelings, the concerns he hides under a veneer of good humour or aggression.

Jesse’s always been a killer.  Since he was fourteen, running with the Deadlocks and caught up in the chance to live wild, to make money and _belong_ somewhere.  Since he was given a revolver and told to prove his worth.

The difference, then, was that he always could choose who to kill.

“Y’all’d better be worried,” Jesse mutters.  “Full moon’s tonight.”

“Ah,” Genji says.  “Well. We can discuss our plans over breakfast.”

In the time Jesse’s known him, Genji hasn’t needed to eat.  Jesse pulls on a pair of pants and shoves his hat on his head and follows him down to a large communal kitchen.

Fareeha’s already there, in yoga pants and a sports bra, with a water bottle in one hand and a hard-boiled egg in the other.  She shoves the egg in her mouth and waves, and Jesse’s beard twitches with a fond smile. If there’s anyone he missed as much as Blackwatch, it’s her.  They used to fight all the time, when they were little more than kids -- Ana and Gabriel would say, in exasperated tones, that they were just like brother and sister.  

She looks so much like Ana.  Jesse doesn’t bother fighting the urge to walk over and give her a friendly slap on the back and a kiss to the side of her head.

“Mornin’,” he says in greeting.

Fareeha raises an eyebrow and elbows his side.  “It’s nearly eleven, you lazy bastard,” she points out.

Jesse shrugs.  “Still mornin’.”

“I’ve been up since five.”

“I, technically, have not slept in ten years,” Genji adds, voice lilting in a way that Jesse knows is teasing.  “Sleepyhead.”

“Alright, alright,” Jesse grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Y’all drag me all the way back here just to insult me or what?” He tries to play along, but the wolf snarls at being teased and Jesse doesn’t quite manage to cover up the note of anger in his voice.

“Yes,” Fareeha replies, undaunted.

“Rabble-rouser.”

She raises an eyebrow.  “That’s practically a compliment, coming from you.”

Jesse grins.  Within him, the wolf feels suspicious, but mollified.  For now.  Moonrise is only a handful of hours away, after all, and it resumes its restless pacing.  

Genji hands him a large coffee mug and an average-sized muffin.  “Come,” he says, with a follow-me gesture and a tone of quiet authority.  Jesse remembers how Genji used to demand and expect obedience, rough and angry and imperious, every inch the disgraced second son.  This Genji, this sleek, calm creature, doesn’t order.  He asks.  The muffin goes dry in Jesse’s mouth and he chokes it down with a gulp of coffee.

“Where?” Fareeha asks, for both of them.  

“This Watchpoint had a fallout bunker, did it not?  I wonder if Winston has kept it in good repair.” Genji tilts his head and walks out of the kitchen, towards the stairs, and Jesse scrambles to suck down the rest of his coffee and follow.  

He hadn’t even thought of the Watchpoint bunker.  For five years, it’s been a monthly scramble to get far enough away, out among the red sands and bristly sedges of the Mojave, praying to a God he doesn’t know if he believes in that this time, he won’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth and terrified screams still ringing in his ears.  He’s never been able to find somewhere safe, somewhere to keep the wolf contained.  But if anyone had such a facility, well, it’d be Overwatch.

The door is thick steel, reinforced and blast-proof, and Jesse knocks the knuckles of his metal hand against the door-frame.  “Yeah,” he says, with a slow nod, “This might work.”

“For what?” Fareeha asks from behind him, voice sharp.  Her dark eyes glitter in the green glow of Genji’s armour.  She takes a step forward. “For _what_ , Jesse?”

Bounty hunting is a lucrative business, when you know where to look.  And Jesse was good at it.  Very good.  Until one job went bad, and the bounty hunted _him_ , instead, and Jesse’s prosthetic twitches against remembered pain as he tells the story, clipped and impassive like he’s debriefing after a mission.  He sees horror and anger and pity in Fareeha’s face.

“We’ll fix this,” she promises in a fierce voice.  “I am going to talk to Winston, and Angela, and we’re going to _fix this_.”  She starts to storm up the stairs, pauses to turn back and punch Jesse on the shoulder, and then she’s gone, righteous fury with her.

The passion is endearing, but Jesse just feels… tired.  He aches to his bones.  It’s in his bones and his blood, pulling towards the moon.  The wolf howls, impatient and triumphant.  It’s not something that can be fixed.

“We will work with this,” Genji contradicts gently.  His artificial body is utterly still, angled towards Jesse in the dark of the underground bunker.  “We will adapt, and survive.”

“Survivin’s what I’m good at,” Jesse mutters, rubbing at his jaw.  The bones are slowly starting to lengthen, with a grinding that vibrates through his skull.  

The feeling is uncomfortable enough that he almost misses Genji saying, “I am going to stay with you.”

“No,” Jesse immediately denies.  “I ain’t lettin’ you do that.”

“I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“So am I.”  Genji’s armour shimmers green in the dim half-light, masking his remaining humanity.  Jesse breathes.  
  
  
  


 

When the moon sets, and Jesse rips back into his own body, gagging under the pain of shifting bones and rawhide skin, the scent of salt and oil and ozone lingers on the back of his tongue.  A hand presses to his bare back, cold and metallic.  It feels sharp against his skin, and he shivers under it, oversensitive and foggy after the full moon.

“Shh,” an echoing voice croons.  “Everything is alright. Everyone is safe.  You survived, Jesse.”

Jesse finds his voice, and he laughs.  It’s the first time in five years that he hasn’t woken up alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Full Moon: A Werewolf McCree Fanzine](https://fullmoonfanzine.tumblr.com/). It is a PDF-only charity zine, and still available for purchase in full at the link.
> 
> As for me, I can often be found on Twitter: [@paxlegomenon](https://twitter.com/paxlegomenon).
> 
> The title comes from the Great Big Sea's [Stumbling In](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9JHGjNbUUw), which is a good McGenji song, in my opinion.


End file.
